


Veil of Skin

by BookishSimon



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Animal Death, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Knives, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Short One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Whump, angsty, ben is an angsty nerd and that means i'm legally required to project on him, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishSimon/pseuds/BookishSimon
Summary: "The skin is flayed off all his form, and he is but one wound; upon all sides, blood pours down, his sinews can be seen; his pulsing veins glow with no veil of skin; you could have tallied up his throbbing guts; the fibers in his chest were clear, apparent." - The Metamorphoses by Ovid.A.K.A. My theory as to why and how Ben died but still looks intact as a ghost. Warning: it's depressing stuff.TRIGGER WARNINGS: Suicide, abuse, blood, stab wounds, knives, and animal death (a dog).





	Veil of Skin

Vomit rose in his throat. Reginald silently stared at the dead dog on the floor. Its insides were hanging out of its stomach and its blood had painted the walls of the room a loud, angry red.

“Well done, Number Six.”

The words ‘fuck off’ jumped up into Ben’s mouth and pushed at his lips. It would be so easy to spit them out. But he knew that the consequences wouldn’t be worth it. He let the words slip back down to a safer place and focused on his breathing instead. In. Out. Okay. He was fine. It was just a dog. An animal. Ben looked down to see that he’d been unconsciously digging his fingernails into his palm. He stretched out his fingers with a painful crack. 

“Grace! Clean up the mess.” Reginald’s voice was unwavering. Ben remembered when he’d first displayed his powers. At least the bastard hadn’t been so damn laid-back then. He wished he could reignite the fear and the disgust in his eyes again, even if it had been directed at him. Anything was better than indifference.  
His mom stepped out of the shadows, nodding robotically. The speed of her movements still unsettled Ben. Grace’s smile remained chiseled on her face no matter what Ben exposed her to. She’d watched animals die without blinking. Ben wondered if she would keep smiling if she had to scrape him off the wall like that. A hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts. Klaus. Without thinking about it, Ben reached up and gently squeezed his hand. He knew Klaus hated his training sessions almost as much as he did. Which said quite a lot. 

The door fell shut behind Ben as he hurried up the stairs to take a shower. His tears were already exposing stretches of pale skin behind his mask of blood. Dark pink water drops stained the floor. He hoped that the hot water hitting the bathroom floor would be enough to muffle his sobs. He feared that it was not. Soft yelling reached his ears through the floor. Klaus must be wanting to die again. Ben chuckled. He got it. None of the other siblings did, not really, but he understood. Something shifted in his gut. He pressed a still-bloody hand to his skin and pushed. The thing inside of him could not talk, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t communicate. If it wanted something, it was very much capable of letting Ben know. He leaned his head against the cold tiles and breathed out. He started reciting a passage from The Metamorphoses by Ovid, almost without realizing he was doing it. It was one of his favorite books. Thinking about it was one of the only things that calmed him down. Ovid talked about the shapeshifters in a way that respected them while still acknowledging their inherent tragedy. The water covered his lips as he softly mumbled the poetry out loud.

He heard someone shouting outside. Probably Klaus being dragged to the mausoleum. His own fault, to be honest. He should stop disagreeing with Reginald. Ben was a much quicker study than Klaus when it came to survival. He’d long lost count of how many living beings he’d ripped apart for nothing more than a disgusted pat on the back. Only if Reginald was wearing the special gloves he reserved for his training sessions with Ben, though.  
He pulled himself up on the side of the sink and looked out of the window. Another voice had now joined the turmoil. It wasn’t Klaus. Diego and Luther were having a fight, by the looks of it. They were dancing around a tree like two dogs meeting each other for the first time. Ben scoffed and sank down on his knees. Then a shiver ran down his back. Diego was outside. Klaus often joked about Diego’s main hobby being counting his knives, but Ben doubted that was actually true. Diego wouldn’t notice if he took one. The thing inside of him shifted, pulling at his intestines. A slow grin spread over Ben’s face.

Diego’s room was unlocked. Ben looked around to make sure the coast was clear and then opened the door. The room was a mess. Knives, clothes and half-eaten bowls of ramen were all over the place. He wrinkled his nose and pulled a closet open. Bingo. The whole thing was filled with knives of all different kinds. All of them sharp and ready to be used. One specific knife caught his eye. It was sleek and its curved blade reflected the light in a way that colored the surface of his watch a light orange when he reached for it. He tucked it into his belt, careful not to hurt himself. He knew himself well enough that he would chicken out if he got a slight taste of pain now. He had to execute his plan in one movement; one thought; one breath.  
The springs of Ben’s bed creaked when he sat down. He wiped some books off the covers and put his blanket against the wall. He leaned against it, enjoying the brief respite it offered him from the constant pain in his back. Hosting a lovecraftian monster in your guts wasn’t great for your spine. Ben pulled his shirt over his head and threw it away. He reached for his copy of The Metamorphoses on his nightstand and put it next to his head. They’d understand. They’d have to.

There was a slow, agonizing moment in which Ben didn’t feel any pain. He’d fucked up. Someone would come in now and find him and everything would go back to the way it was. Then the pain hit him. He only had a second to feel relief before all thought were pushed out of his mind and replaced by raging hellfire in his brain and midriff. The knife was sticking out of his skin. Beneath it was a pulsing mass of tentacles, all reaching out towards the knife and spasming. Ben twisted the metal in deeper, all the way up to the hilt. Dark spots swam in front of his eyes. His throat hurt. He realized he was screaming. He tried to swallow it, tried to be quiet, but he simply couldn’t. His body’s last act was finally, after all those year, crying out for someone to help him. Footsteps raced up the stairs, but Ben’s eyes were already closed when the door swung open. It was too late. The light inside of him had found peace in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my personal headcanon about Ben's death. I'd love to hear your theories + your thoughts on this fic? Thank you for taking the time to read this! Have a nice day!


End file.
